


Dark and Sinister Men

by Nimori



Category: Peter Pan - Barrie, Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimori/pseuds/Nimori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend drops in on Hook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark and Sinister Men

The letter sat folded on Hook's desk, between the ship's log and the teak box from the Dutch East Indies, empty these past three years. Hook himself stood at the window.

"Smee!" he bellowed into the silence.

Smee stuck his head into the cabin. He still hadn't cleaned off the egg Hook had thrown at him at breakfast, and yolk had dried in one lens of his spectacles. "Yes, Cap'n?"

"Prepare a guest cabin."

"A guest cabin?" Smee stepped around the door. "Are we having a guest then, Cap'n?"

"Aye, we are." Hook strode to the window, clasped the iron claw that stood for his right hand behind his back.

"Is it someone I know?"

"Hardly."

"Not one of the lost boys then."

"Heaven forfend."

"Is it a redskin?"

"No."

"Is it a fairy?"

"No."

"Is it a Spaniard?"

"Smee!"

"Is it a pirate?"

Hook froze, hand on the goblet to hurl it at his bo'sun. "Yes." He flung himself into his chair, and Smee scuttled in to fill his cup. "I've had a letter."

"From the pirate."

"No, from the blasted crocodile! Of course from the pirate." Hook downed the brandy, and Smee promptly refilled the goblet. "A pirate with whom I went to school."

"You don't talk none about your pirate school days, Cap'n."

"Is it any wonder?" Hook flung his arm wide, splashing brandy across Smee's shirt. "Why should I, James Hook, boast of second-best scores at treasure-burying, and silver medals in the heaving-to contests? Why should I wish to revisit my halcyon days of being upstaged at every turn by that poncing little--"

"Ship ahoy!" called Bill Jukes from the crow's nest, and Hook collapsed back in the chair.

"He was always better than I at sashaying," Hook said mournfully. "Top marks in swashbuckling. Could drink a barrel of rum and still find the booty he buried last term."

"But," said Smee, "_he_ ain't Cap'n James Hook."

"No," Hook said, straightening a little. "He isn't." He suddenly took in his bo'sun's brandy-stained and egg-splattered appearance. "What the devil is wrong with you, man? Go and change your shirt at once."

On deck, Hook's dogs lined the starboard rail, a cutlass or pistol in every hand, and Mullins had Long Tom aimed at the other ship.

'Ship' was perhaps too generous a term for the approaching dinghy, though by the carriage of the man standing akimbo at the bow one might have thought it the King's own vessel. At first it looked as though the dinghy was being rowed by invisible men ('ghosts' went the superstitious mutter down the rail) but as it drew up alongside the _Jolly Roger_ the men could see the oarsman was either an extremely small pirate or a monkey in men's clothes.

"Bring them aboard," Hook said from the safety of the quarter deck.

The men hoisted the dinghy up on the davits, and Hook watched the process with a cultivated expression of disinterest. The hat was the first to appear, and then the eyes, thickly lined and searing. The rest of Jack Sparrow followed in jerky surges until whole frock-coated sash-waisted length of him rose over the rail. The monkey leapt from the dinghy to the rail, and ran up the braces to disappear into the rigging.

To a man, the dogs straightened up as their guest stepped directly onto Long Tom and bowed.

"Allo, lads. Captain Jack Sparrow, at your service." Sparrow observed the double row of curious men for a heartbeat, and then hopped off the end of Long Tom. He paused just long enough for Hook to clench his teeth, and then...

Oh, then.

He stepped far too lightly for a pirate, for a _man_, his boots falling with sinister grace in a line only a drunk lubber could walk. Chin high and smile knowing, Sparrow sashayed down the lines.

"Ain't no shame in taking second to such a fine sash-ay, if you don't mind me sayin' so, Cap'n," Smee whispered, and Hook dug his hook into the man's side, hard enough to elicit a yelp.

Sparrow stopped to have a quick word -- in Italian -- with Cecco and to compliment the Gentleman Starkey on his boots before he resumed his amble, eyes only on Hook now.

"Did you see?" whispered Mullins as Sparrow passed. "He has a hat _and_ a scarf. Cap'n don't have a scarf."

"Cap'n's got a hook, though," said Jukes in a half-hearted show of loyalty.

"But he don't walk like that, and he ain't got no rowing monkey neither."

Jukes muttered something about a crocodile and fell silent as Sparrow reached the steps to the quarter deck. There Sparrow cocked his head, reminding Hook curiously of Pan in the gesture, and parked his hands on his besashed hips.

"Odds bobs, hammer and tongs," Sparrow drawled, "if it isn't my old friend, Jamie Hook."

"Jackie Sparrow," Hook said past a wide smile, phony as the crocodile's. "You and your... crew are welcome aboard the _Jolly Roger_."

The monkey shrieked a reply from the rigging.

"Much obliged, James," Sparrow said, matching fake smile for fake smile and adding a charming head-tilt.

"Oh, he's good, Cap'n," Smee murmured, and Hook absently drew his pistol and shot the tip of the bo'sun's boot. Smee withdrew to count his toes, and Hook turned back to Sparrow.

"I received your charmingly worded request for a... what did you call it? A class reunion?"

"Not much of a reunion with just the two of us." Sparrow's smile widened and his tone lowered. "Though by God, it could be."

_Perhaps_, thought Hook, _it was bad form to shoot Smee. He was right that there is only one Captain Jas. Hook._

Hook stroked his moustache in what he hoped was a suave and courtly manner, and allowed his smile to warm. "Then do accept my invitation to dine at the captain's table this evening," he said, loud enough for his dogs to hear.

A collective sigh went up among the crew, and Starkey actually slumped.

"Now, now, my bullies," said Hook, gaze clashing with Sparrow's. "You may put your questions concerning Captain Sparrow's adventures to the monkey. Jackie and I shall dine in my cabin."

* * *

Cecco and Mason took the launch ashore and returned an hour later with a wild boar. Hook knew very well they'd traded with the redskins for it, but he'd rather that than no boar at all. He'd give them a touch of the cat for the deception later.

Smee laid out the best linen and china and crystal on the table in Hook's cabin, and served them throughout the meal. Hook had ordered a barrel of rum brought up, though he vastly preferred a good stiff brandy, and Sparrow toasted him with each cup they downed.

"Tom Piper!" Hook cried and Sparrow laughed into his goblet. "Do you remember his beard?"

"That splotchy tuft sprouting from his chin?"

"He made us call him Blondbeard for a whole term, until Peggy Two-Feet --"

"-- from the Sea Vixen's College!" they said together.

"Until she told him he looked like he'd fallen asleep in the butter dish."

"What ever happened to Butterbeard Tom?" Sparrow asked, wiping his eyes.

"Dead. Execution Dock."

"And Peggy?"

"Went down with her ship."

Sparrow raised his goblet. "To Tom and Peggy and Davy Jones!"

"Aye!" Hook downed his glass, and Smee scurried forward to refill it.

"To you, James Hook," Sparrow said, and Hook drank again.

Sparrow sat back and ran one finger along the rim of the fine crystal. "You're still an evil-looking man, James," he said, locking gazes with Hook. "The evilest, swarthiest, most terror-inspiring pirate I've even known, damn you."

"Smee, get out."

"But Cap'n, the pudding--"

Hook drew his pistol and the door slammed on Smee's heels before he'd even aimed. He tucked the pistol away. "Do continue, Jack."

"Come now, Jamie," Sparrow murmured. He leaned forward. "No more circling. How's about a go for old times' sake?" His hand fell on Hook's thigh under the table, slid up. "You know we're the best of the best, the only ones good enough for each other."

"Then have at thee, foul braggart," Hook groaned, and dropped his goblet. The crystal shattered and he had a sudden heavy lapful of irritating pirate -- pirate which nibbled Hook's ears and sucked on his neck. Hook tried to return the gesture, got a mouthful of bauble. "Brimstone and gall, Jack!"

"Still a step behind the pirate fashion industry, I see," Sparrow murmured in his ear. "You've got to have a bit of sparkle, James. Bit o' the old glitz and glam and you'll have lads and lasses alike just begging you to plunder 'em." Sparrow tipped his head and the baubles rattled.

Elegantly, like everything else about the man.

"From what vile demon did you cozen your charm?" Hook demanded, pulling Sparrow's hips against his own with a hand and the flat of his hook.

"It's bad form to fuck your guests at the table," Sparrow said. "Especially as I can see your bunk is just over there."

Hook snarled something most unbefitting an English gentleman and stood, Sparrow clinging to him like a sinuous barnacle, unmindful of the hook's proximity to his tender areas as Hook carried him to the bunk. He dropped Sparrow on the crimson coverlet, and then took great delight in slicing off each button of the man's shirt, one by one.

"Oh my, you have learned a new trick or two since school."

"And you," Hook growled, "are as garrulous as ever."

"Silence me then," Sparrow said, and Hook accepted the invitation to kiss him, pinning Sparrow's arms to the pillow.

Somehow -- it was always _somehow_ with Sparrow, even when there wasn't rum involved -- Hook found himself on his back, thrusting up against the lithe body over him, chasing Sparrow's lips when he drew back. He found himself parting his legs, letting Sparrow work him open with a bit of salad oil.

He found himself panting and undignified and most certainly not thinking of England as Sparrow pushed into him.

"Ah, you fiend," Hook said. He forgot his claw (he hadn't had it last time they'd done this) and scratched Sparrow's back with it, but the sting only made Sparrow groan and thrust harder.

"Come on, Jamie," he said, breathless. He slipped a hand between them, wrapped his elegant fingers around Hook's cock. "You used to go off at a touch."

"I used to be seventeen," Hook snarled, but he was close, so close. Sparrow's bauble-weighted hair brushed over Hook's face with each thrust, luring him onwards. Sparrow's thumb swiped over the head of Hook's cock again and again and Hook arched, sunk the iron claw into the featherbed. White hot pleasure poured down his spine; not even gutting Pan could ever hope to rival the sensation.

"Fire cannons," Sparrow whispered, grinning, and Hook came between their bellies.

Aftershocks quivered down his limbs and made him boneless enough for Sparrow to push his legs higher, bend in close for a fierce kiss. Hook bit him, sharp enough to draw a taste of copper, and earned himself a sharp punishing thrust, one that led to another, and another, until Sparrow was fucking him with more abandon than Hook had seen since their school days.

And Sparrow bit his neck as he finished inside Hook, same as ever, and it brought the past to sharply to mind that Hook half-expected Butterbeard Tom to come bursting in with news that the blighters from Scurvy House had stolen their flag.

Sparrow relaxed atop him, and Hook lowered his legs, letting Sparrow stay between them. He had the uncomfortable suspicion he'd just taken second again, and the even more uncomfortable suspicion that he didn't care. Sparrow reached up to fiddle with one of Hook's long black curls, and Hook slipped off his iron claw.

"I should like to lie here forever," he said, regretted the slip, and then perversely decided he'd said it and would stick by it. To do otherwise was bad form. "No fighting, no plundering, just..."

"It's the rum."

"It's not the rum."

Sparrow kissed him. "Yes, James. It is."

* * *

Hook stretched, languid with sleep and sex and the roll of the ship. His bunk was empty but for himself, but this he had anticipated. Sparrow was a shockingly affectionate bedpartner while dozing, and would laze about half the day if left in bed alone, but if he woke first he was always up and dressed straightaway.

Indeed, Hook had only to glance around his cabin to spot Sparrow at the desk, the carved teak box from the Dutch East Indies open in his hand.

"I've hidden my maps better than that, Jack," Hook said, trying for a teasing tone though he knew what Sparrow sought, and it wasn't maps to treasure Hook didn't have.

"You've given it away then," Sparrow said, still staring into the empty box.

Hook would have liked to agree, but his chest thawed a little at Sparrow's forlorn countenance. "It was stolen, actually."

Sparrow looked over at last. "Someone dared steal from the great James Hook?" At Hook's raised eyebrow, Sparrow had the grace to blush. "Someone other than myself, I mean."

"You are not the only fool in this world, Jack Sparrow." Hook patted the bunk beside him, but Sparrow had turned his attention back to the box.

"Not one of your dogs."

"Of course not." Hook pulled the sheet up to his chin, affronted. "It was the leader of a band of... of uncivilized... ruthless... impudent..."

"Yes?"

Hook shut his eyes. "Children."

The expected guffaw did not come, but when Hook finally looked, Sparrow's eyes were very wide and his mouth very straight.

"Children."

"He's no ordinary boy," Hook said, cross now, "though I should die before saying so within his hearing. 'Twas he that did this." He held up his stump.

"Oh, James. I thought you'd chopped that off yourself. You always admired One-Eyed Willie for gouging his own eye out third year."

"Save your pity for Pan." Hook rolled over, pulling the sheet with him.

"Is that your ferocious boy's name?"

"Away, if you mean only to torment me."

"Just as well I thought to leave today -- after breakfast, of course."

"Your letter said you planned to stay as much as a week," Hook said sulkily.

"Never trust a pirate's word." Sparrow grinned at him. "Come now, no pouting. You haven't the lips for it. I thought I'd take a look around the island, see the sights. The monkey swears he spotted a mermaid in the cove."

The offer of an escort leapt to Hook's tongue and almost escaped before he crushed it. "Mermaids, fairies, redskins, lost boys, Pan, and us. That is the sum of Neverland."

"It's a fine sum," Sparrow said, and he sounded too melancholy to be sincere.

* * *

Two days after Sparrow left, Jukes spotted Pan flitting about off Marooner's Rock. Hook got as far as ordering the launch lowered before Jukes called down a second report.

Hook snatched the glass from Mullins and put his eye to it. He spied the dinghy first -- the monkey playing solitaire on the thwart -- and then the rock.

Sparrow perched on it, britches rolled up to the knee, bare feet in the water and jaunty tilt to his hat while Pan flew about his head. They appeared to be conversing in a pleasant enough manner.

"Cap'n?" Starkey asked. "The launch?"

"Let him go, Starkey." Hook collapsed the glass and gave it back to Mullins. He had half a barrel of rum in his cabin, just sitting there not being drunk.

* * *

Pan arrived at sunset and landed on the rail of the quarter deck. He wore a sulky face but it faded as he eyed Hook's dishabille.

"I say, where has your friend the pirate gone?"

Hook raised his head from the deck. The steps had seemed like a comfortable place to sleep, but that was before he felt like Long Tom had gone off in his head. "He cozened you out of that locket you stole from me, didn't he?"

"He did not," Pan shouted. "I'm far too clever."

Hook elected not to contest this. He'd had far too much rum and if he started a fight he really would cut his own hand off, and he needed the one he had left.

"He said he needed the locket to save his lad and lady," Pan said when Hook did not respond. He chewed his bottom lip and stared out over the cove. "From a very boring death, he assured me. Is the lady his mother, do you think?"

Hook closed his eyes. "No, Pan, she is not."

"Then is the lad his father?"

"No."

"Is he _their_ father then?" And Pan sounded horrified at the prospect, as though conversing unwittingly with a father had exposed him to the contagion of adulthood.

"Given what he undoubtedly does with them, I sincerely hope not," Hook said. "Rum?"

Pan came down from the rail. "Is it poisoned?"

"No." Hook poured another cup and handed it to the boy, had to stop him when he would have drank it down. "First we toast. Here, raise your cup like so, and think of something we both wish to salute."

They fell silent, thinking.

"Shall we toast Captain Jack and his lad and lady?" Pan asked after a long while.

"Certainly not. To Neverland. To our enmity. To us."

"To you, sir," Pan said, and gave a ridiculous bow. He quaffed the cup and then spat good rum all over the quarter deck. "You villain! That _was_ poison."

"The best kind," Hook said, and laughed at Pan's outrage. "You'll never grow up, Pan, will you? Promise me."

"I promise," Pan said solemnly, outrage forgotten in an instant, and they shook on it, hook to hand.

And then Pan snatched Hook's hat and flew off with it, crowing.


End file.
